Sit, Stay, Love Page 13

  “Can I get you a drink?” Cal asked. His tone was a little more formal, she thought, though she could not quite see why.

  “Lemonade,” she said. “Please.”

  Immediately she was approached by two wives, toting their little boys along. “You must be Gina,” the taller one said. “I’m Allie. We’ve been watching you and Tippy on Twitter.”

  Gina grimaced. “I don’t know how they keep getting these pictures. It’s crazy.”

  “Pro sports is a crazy business.” Allie pointed. “Is it okay if Josh pets Tippy?”

  “Sure,” Gina said.

  The second woman introduced herself as Tonya. She was elegant, well dressed with French-tipped nails and a red bag that matched her shoes. Gina felt suddenly aware that her sandals were scuffed and her sundress had been purchased at a thrift store two years before. “So are you and Cal together?” Tonya said.

  “Uh, no. I’m his dog sitter.”

  Allie smiled. “Oh, you’re more than that. He can’t stop staring at you.”

  She looked over to find that Cal was indeed watching her while he waited for a server to fill a glass with lemonade. He looked away to check his phone.

  “Must be the dog. No one can help staring at Tippy.”

  Allie laughed as another woman moved to talk to her. “He’s not looking at the dog. See you later.”

  Allie and Josh moved away. Gina took a moment to try and collect herself. Ever since Bill had appeared with Matthew, she felt as if she was unable to get a full breath. Matthew pleaded that she come play catch with him, and it took all her fortitude to decline.

  “Soon,” Bill told Matthew. “I’ve got to talk to Gina later and we can play then.”

  “Don’t answer for me,” she’d wanted to say, but he was rushing on.

  “Are you free tomorrow after breakfast?”

  “I’m really not sure what my schedule is,” she’d said.

  “We’ll keep it flexible then,” Bill had said, picking up Matthew and wrapping them both in a hug. She’d found herself breathing in the scent of Matthew’s shampoo, the kind that came in the blue shark bottle found on the second shelf of the third aisle in Don’s Meat and Grocery.

  Cal interrupted her thoughts. “Here’s your lemonade.”

  Pete found them next, crushing Gina in a cigar-scented hug and bending over to scratch Tippy.

  “How’s my girlie?” he asked her.

  Tippy flopped over and offered him a tummy to rub.

  “You know, I’ve got my boat all back in order and the missus moved in. If you’re still looking for a home for this old bag of bones after spring training, I can take her. Missus will tend to her while we travel. She says it’s more fun taking care of a dog than me anyway.”

  Cal’s face darkened. “Appreciate that. Actually, we found out Tippy didn’t belong to my mother.”

  “Really? Family friend?”

  “No. My father.”

  Pete blinked. “Awww man. So Tippy’s going back to your father?”

  Cal nodded and Gina felt a pain inside for him and for herself.

  Pete considered. “So you… talked to your dad then?”

  “As little as possible,” Cal snapped. “He showed up at the ranch without my permission, and it won’t happen again. As a matter of fact, I’m going to sell the place.”

  “Okay.”

  Cal rounded on him. “What do you mean, okay? That’s the kind of ‘okay’ you give me when you’ve got something else to say.”

  Pete held up his hands. “I got nothin’. Just going to enjoy some chips and guacamole that I’m not supposed to eat, according to my doctor, but I did wanna tell you there was a message in the office for you.”

  “From whom?”

  “Your father, as a matter of fact. He asked you to call. Said he didn’t have your cell.”

  Cal muttered something under his breath while Pete wiggled his fingers at Gina. “See you, Gina.”

  Gina pretended to fuss with Tippy, but she shot a look at Cal. He was staring into space, mouth pinched.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I just wondered. Does it upset you that your father called?”

  “No. He can call all he wants but he’s not getting any response from me.”

  Clearly not her business. “Okay.”

  “I’m going to take Tippy outside for some air. Do you want to come?”

  She did, following him out onto a patio. The temperature was warm but not sizzling. Strings of twinkle lights hung over the small tables. Tippy set off to give the walled-in patio a thorough once-over.

  Cal sat at the table, fixing his inscrutable brown eyed gaze on Gina. “Saw Bill and Matthew at the meet and greet. That was them, right?”

  She nodded, sinking down across from him. “What a surprise that was. Matthew’s grown a couple inches since I saw him last.” Her heart throbbed when she said his name. “He’ll be a first grader soon. He’s decided to be a firefighter when he grows up. Or a circus clown.” She laughed. “I’m sure Bill’s holding out for lawyer.”

  “What does he want?”

  “Who? Bill?” She shrugged. “He brought Matthew for spring training. He’s on a T-ball team. So cute.”

  “What does Bill want?” Cal’s tone was hard.

  The smile faded from her face. “With me? I don’t know. Probably to tell me about this job he’s heard about. Deep down, he really does want to help me.”

  “You sure?”

  She frowned. “Why do you ask that?”

  “I’ve seen that look before. Bill may have other things he’s after.”

  “Like what?”

  Cal sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “To get close to me.”

  Her mouth fell open. “What?”

  Cal stayed silent.

  “You’re saying you think he came to spring training because he’s using me to get to you?”

  “It happens.”

  “Because you’re so famous and all that.”

  “Like it or not, yes. I am famous and people are weird about fame, just like I told you before.”

  She felt a slow burn. “Did it occur to you for one moment that he’s fond of me? We shared time together.”

  “Until he dumped you when his wife came back.”

  She felt like she’d been slapped. “I’m aware. And I’m also a smart girl, Cal, even if I’m not a very good dog trainer.”

  “I’m not saying you’re not smart.”

  “I think you are. You think I’m so clueless I wouldn’t even recognize that I was being used?”

  “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

  There was a loud humming in her ears. “Listen,” she said, getting to her feet. “I realize that I’m not of your world. I don’t get shuttled around in limos and have the world falling at my feet because they like the way I throw a ball.”

  “That’s not what… ”

  The blood simmered in her veins. “But I did have a life before I came under the shadow of Cal Crawford. People value me because of who I am, not who I work for.”

  He looked at the table. “It was just a friendly warning.”

  “Not friendly,” she said. “Not really.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “As a matter of fact, I think you did. And you know what? I got the message. I’ve been put in my place and reminded of my position in your life. I’m the dog sitter and I must not allow myself to be an avenue of access to my celebrity boss. Don’t worry. In a few days, I won’t be your employee anymore anyway. That reminds me that I’ve been neglecting my own goals. Thanks for the lemonade. Come on, Tippy.”

  In loyal fashion, Tippy scurried over and let Gina affix her leash. They sailed out. Though she listened carefully, Cal made no effort to follow.

  Surprisingly, she did not cry. Better to find out now how he really feels, Gina. In a few days, you’ll never see him again. This time, the end of her employment couldn�
�t come quickly enough.

  Cal paced the floor of his room. He had slept no more than a few hours. It was still not yet sunup and he found himself walking to the office adjoining the clubhouse.

  A night janitor looked up in surprise. Cal didn’t know the guy’s name, though he’d been a fixture at the clubhouse for years. Gina would have learned his life story at their first meeting. Thinking about her made his throat feel thick. What had caused him to behave like such a jerk the night before?

  … he dumped you when his wife came back. Had he really said that? His mother would have skinned him alive to hear him speak to a woman in such a manner. And why had he?

  To protect her, to make her wise up about Bill. She’d said it herself, she was naive, too trusting.

  But what was it to him if Bill was using her to get to him? Wanting a piece of the great Cal Crawford?

  Great. The word made him think of Gina.

  “Maybe when your mom said God made you great, she wasn’t talking about your pitching.” Gina certainly wouldn’t put Cal in the great category now, but he’d definitely qualify for jerk status.

  He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the fatigue hit home. Mentally he inventoried his pitches—cutter, split finger fastball, slider, changeup, curveball. Repeating the list in his mind soothed him. Everything he was in the world came down to his arm and a five-ounce white leather ball. Fingers clenching, he longed for the comfort of a baseball at that moment. That was exactly how he was going to be great, and he wouldn’t allow himself to be distracted by anything—not a woman, not his father, not a dippy dog. Deal with the note and get it over with.

  The janitor stood there sweeping the front walkway, broom in one hand and dustpan in the other. “Hey, Mr. Crawford. What brings you out at this hour?”

  “Pete said there was a message left for me in the office. Would you let me in so I can get it?”

  “Of course.” He unlocked the door, fingers thick and knobby at the knuckles. The back of his head glistened where a bald spot parted the grizzled hair. Guy had probably been doing the job forever, starting as a young man and quietly working his way into old age. He thought of Gina, who knew everyone’s names—from the doorman to the gas station attendant.

  “Thank you,” Cal said.

  “Sure thing. I’ll lock up again when you’re done. Take your time, Mr. Crawford.”

  “Great.” The man held the door for him.

  “I should know this, but what’s your name, by the way?” Cal asked as he passed.

  “Me? Norm. Norm Weston.”

  “Thank you, Norm, for letting me in and keeping the office so clean. You do a good job.”

  His eyebrows arched, lifting his sagging face for a moment. “Oh, uh, well… thank you, sir.”

  “I’m sorry to cause you trouble.”

  “No trouble at all, sir.”

  Cal nodded and let himself into the office. He found the board where the miscellaneous notes were tacked and removed the one with his name on it.

  Cal, from Mitch Crawford.

  Mitch Crawford. He still felt a flood of emotions where his would-be father was concerned. The man whose name he bore, who had so little influence on his life. No, strike that. The man had a whole heaping load of influence. When he’d left, he planted the seed of determination inside Cal, the need to be somebody, the drive to be great, to make this world sit up and take notice of him.

  If his mom was alive she’d say, “It only matters what God notices, and He will still notice even if you don’t win.”

  Maybe when your mom said God made you great, she wasn’t talking about your pitching.

  But Cal, like his father, was not a great man, and he knew it all too well. He was selfish and arrogant and he filtered everything through the lens of his own athletic success. At the end of the day, who cared about Cal Crawford now that his mom was gone? Uncle Oscar and Sweets. A few friends who would drift away if his pitching contract ended.

  Gina.

  But maybe he had severed that tie with his cruelty and arrogance.

  He shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts, but they would not go.

  “God,” he said, standing suddenly. It was as far as he got. The quiet empty clubhouse mocked him. He did not know what to say to God. He had only questions. Why did Dad leave? Why did You take Mom? Why am I sitting in this office at five a.m. with a multi-million dollar contract and the feeling that I have nothing?

  Knock it off, he told himself. You have a job to do and these ridiculous thoughts are getting in the way. Savagely, he jammed the note into his pocket unopened and strode off.

  Fifteen

  Saturday morning sunlight poked through the hotel curtains and awakened Gina. She let Tippy snore a while longer as she dressed for the day, choosing a bright pink shirt to cheer herself, paired with a denim skirt. Painstakingly, she’d written down the schedule of events on a hotel notepad and stuck the paper in her pocket. Slathering herself with sunscreen, she mentally prepared for the big day, their next-to-last day in Scottsdale. Pete told her that after the weekend was over, she was free to go.

  And she wanted to.

  Mostly.

  Cal’s stinging comments from the night before still throbbed. I am famous and people are weird about fame, just like I told you before.

  Only she wasn’t weird about it because she thought of him as Cal, not superstar Cal. His reaction cut her to the core. It was a sharp correction. He expected people, including Gina, to see him as an elite athlete, and he really did think of her as below his stratosphere.

  “Well, not everyone is angling for a way to meet you, you big dope,” she muttered, though uncertainty nibbled at the edges of her mind. Might Bill have chosen to help her find a job in order to rub shoulders with the famous Cal? Did he have ulterior motives for bringing Matthew to spring training?

  Surely not, but images from the past two days swam before her eyes. All those fans jostling to get a glimpse of Cal, watching his every move on the practice field, the young women who had gone so far as to write ‘Crawford’ on their bare midriffs and shriek his name when he emerged from the tunnel. How could he possibly see things properly? He was despised when he messed up. And when he was performing well as he had been at spring training? Adored. Worshipped.

  She considered what Sweets had said at the ranch. “He doesn’t need worship; that’s for God. He needs love.”

  Didn’t matter what he needed, she was not going to be the one to give it to him, especially after his rude treatment. She brushed her hair and pulled it into a low ponytail. Though she would pray for Cal Crawford, she could not help him with the love part. Not she, the lowly dog sitter and the girl who was not going to lose her heart again so soon, not to him.

  “Come on, Tippy. Time for breakfast.”

  Tippy kept her eyes firmly closed.

  “I know you’re awake, you big faker. Come on. We’ve got kids to greet.”

  With some reluctance, Tippy complied, deigning to eat her breakfast with a sprinkling of Cheeto crumbs. “I’m going to have to write all this down for Mitch,” she said, heart squeezing.

  Some forty-five minutes later, Gina was installed at a table under a white awning. The grass was bustling with activity. Kids of all ages practiced catching with some of the players. Cal, she noted, was advising a group of wide-eyed teens on pitching technique. The sunlight caught his shoulders, the tanned skin, an occasional shy smile. She thought he looked her way a few times, but she was careful not to meet his gaze.

  The younger ones began to toddle over, clutching their parents’ hands. Pete had supplied all the materials she’d requested—crayons, tape, white paper, and the Xeroxed outlines. With her scissors and crayons she whipped up a sample and put it on. The floppy paper ears danced around in the wind.

  “Who wants to make Tippy ears?” she called to the mingling kids.

  A chorus of eager children piped up and she was soon surrounded at the table, helping cut and tape the ears on to the paper h
eadbands, watching the kids color with their chubby crayons. She enjoyed the sense of surety that she always got when she worked with children. It was what she was made to do, what God meant for her to do, and in good time He’d give her an opportunity.

  Soon the crayons were rolling everywhere as children applied themselves diligently to the task. Each child was given a chance to don their paper ears and sit next to Tippy for a photo op.

  Several dozen children later, Matthew climbed up to the table. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “Hey, buddy,” she said. “Do you want to make some ears?”

  He nodded, still wearing the crumbs from his breakfast toast. She got him started as Bill sat next to him and immediately organized the mess of crayons into a neat row.

  “Nice setup you’ve got here,” he said. “I’m sure it was your idea, a natural teacher.”

  “Who wouldn’t want to make Tippy ears?” she said, though the comment pleased her.

  “Vivian said to say hello. She wants to know how to make snowballs.”

  Snowballs were the little white cookies rolled in powdered sugar that she and Matthew had made for sharing on S day in preschool. “It’s an easy recipe. I’ll email it to you.” Gina could not picture Vivian getting her manicured nails mussed by cookie dough, but who was she to judge? To busy her fingers, she colored and folded another set of Tippy ears.

  Matthew finished his ears and hopped off the chair to play with the dog.

  “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you to tell you that there is going to be an opening at Mt. Olive when Mrs. Stein has her bunion surgery.” He leaned in. “And I heard at the PTA meeting that she’s thinking about not coming back next fall.”

  Gina’s heart beat fast. What she wouldn’t give to step into Mrs. Stein’s shoes and teach her very own class of first graders. “But… why would they want me back?” Her face grew hot. “I mean, after the field trip incident and all.”